As I flip through the late-night dial, I am consistently disappointed by the lack of originality in the titles of soft-core films on pay channels.  I guess the producers don't want to leave any room for doubt as to what kind of a movie they've made.  To demonstrate the absence of variety in these titles, I have created the "Skinemax-o-matic" which is a knockoff on those 0-matic things you see in cheesy magazines from time to time.  To create your own unoriginal softcore title, pick one item from column A and one from column B, and you're done (although the movie probably already exists, check imdb.com.).

I'm sure there are a couple more.

I went out the other night to a rooftop party in the Village.  Other than 1) having beer that really wasn't cold enough, 2) serving thousands upon thousands of crawfish, and 3) having a median age of 31 or so, it could have been any frat party in the last 15 years.  The music was a combination of pure 80's (astonishingly bad 80's, too) and completely unnecessary party staples ("Sweet Caroline" played TWICE in a ROW), there was that keg-master guy who decides he is in charge of the beer and is going to decide when and if  everybody gets their cup filled, and people were passing out and taking pictures of each other.  It had it all.  Here are a couple of snippets of annoying shit I overheard that evening:

"Dude, I told you not to hit me in my beer hand."
-guy at party, after being hit in beer hand by buddy

Girl:"What do you do in Chicago?"
Guy: "I'm a trader."
-exchange between two just-mets at party

"At least he's bangin' chicks."
-random person about random other person

"I feel like you won't believe me or listen to any god-damn fucking thing I say."
-girl to boyfriend, St. Mark's Place, 1:52 am

6/27/03:

Are you unsatisfied in your job, enough so that you're willing to lose it if necessary?  Is your workplace populated by know-it-all little punks who make more money than you and say things really loud into the telephone like, "She was so on my tip, dude"?  Finally, are you a large man with a somewhat imposing physical presence, or a little guy with a chip on his shoulder big enough to block traffic, or maybe a loner who might just be crazy enough to do something?  If you answered yes to these questions, would you consider participating in verbungle.com's first sociological experiment, which is tentatively called The Office Bully Program?

Here's how it works.  Once we have selected a participant(s), the bullying will begin.  I've been thinking lately how if there's one thing my adult life has been lacking, it's a good old-fashioned mean-ass bully, and that's what I want one or more of you to become.  I know, there are plenty of psychological bullies in the modern business world, who will use a dangled promotion, or their ranking within the company, or the threat of firing you as ammunition to get exactly what they want.  And since we are all fearful little mice at heart, these people never seem to get what's coming to them.  This is different: what you need to become is someone who uses the threat of violence, either implied or explicit, to create havoc and terror in your office.

Let's be clear:  this isn't Office Space.  We're not expecting positive results.  You're not going to get promoted to VP of Eastern Region Sales or be asked in on the boss's secret late-night strategy sessions.  But what you might get is the personal satisfaction that comes with intimidating and humiliating other people.  That's something you can't put a price on. 

I suggest you start slowly.  Pick someone you really hate, and when you find yourself alone with them, say with a straight face, "You know, I think maybe you should start using the copy machine on the second floor instead of this one." When they smile, assuming you're kidding, and ask why, just say something like, "Because this is MY copy machine."  Don't break into laughter, and don't lose eye contact.  Once they look suitably confused, turn and walk away.  They might chalk the incident up to you having a bad day or just pulling their leg, so you have to make sure you follow it up with another confrontation as soon as possible, say the next time you see them using that copier or bathroom or coffee machine, etc.  Go up and say, "I'm sorry, I don't remember you asking if you could use my copier.  Did I miss something?"  At this point, the person probably assumes you're nuts or you just have a lame sense of humor.  They probably won't step aside and give up the machine, so you just need to stand there staring at them until they're done.  As they walk past you, shaking their head, call after them, "You're so dead if I see you doing this again."  Try to make sure nobody else sees the exchange.  After this happens a few times, the person will probably take the problem to a supervisor or a human resources person.  When you are called in and asked about it, just deny it and act shocked.  Say something like, "Well, Billy and I have had some problems in the past, but I can't believe he would go to this length to try to get me in trouble."  You might want to threaten a lawsuit if you have a chance.  Then, next time you see your enemy, threaten him again.  This time, say, "I'll fucking put you in the hospital if you say anything about me to anybody.  I don't care if I get fired."  Hopefully, he's not recording the conversation.

After this, start spreading out, harassing people one at a time, and maybe only once per customer.  Try to be subtle enough to avoid getting fired, but if you sense the axe is going to fall, up your output a little (the Blaze of Glory theory).  Try not to think of yourself as some virtuous sheriff type character -- don't concentrate too hard on righting wrongs around the office.  Just try to make everyone fear you equally, through a campaign of threats and occasional shoves.  Let us know how it works out.

6/26/03:

I remember reading the book "Heaven is a Playground" a few years back.  It was a great book, by Rick Telander, written around 1975 or so. He spent a summer at Foster Park in Brooklyn, the only white guy playing basketball with a bunch of young black kids -- absorbing their language, their culture and, to some extent, their struggles.  Through his experiences, we learn what drives these kids, what they think is cool, what they think is weak, and what they think being a real man is all about.  I recall thinking, wow, what a fucked up system of values these poor kids have.  By observing the life in their neighborhood, the kids create heroes for themselves, heroes whose worth is measured by a specific set of criteria.  What makes a man a man, to these young dreamers?

-how good he is at sports, specifically basketball
-how many chicks he has screwed/can screw
-how much alcohol/drugs he can take
-how nice his clothes and/or car are

I remember shaking my head at this pathetic list, wondering how these kids are ever going to learn what constitutes real success in life, and how they are ever going to escape the ghetto, with its chronic cycle of sadness and failure.  The answer is, they never will, until they add penis size to their list.

Speaking of lists, I am giving front page respect to my half-assed list of spam emails I have received recently.  It's not that funny, really, although some of these subject lines are just so desperate it makes me feel sorry for the advertiser and their target audience.  For instance, who exactly are you trying to reach with the subject line "Whore in Big Trouble"?  I can picture some lonely palooka who's been masturbating furiously for like 16 hours, and then he comes across "Whore in Big Trouble" and immediately starts fantasizing about how he is going to rescue this poor, beautiful misguided prostitute from her sad life, and how she will run away with him like Patricia Arquette ran away with Christian Slater in "True Romance."  It's pretty cruel, actually.  Or maybe they're just looking for guys who like porn.

6/25/03:

I just got back from Chicago the other day.  What a great city.  Of course, I think my perception might be colored a little bit by the fact that every time I'm there, I'm on vacation, relaxing, drinking beer in the summer sun, and generally forgetting all my deep New York troubles.  But what fascinates me about Chicago is that it seems to me like most other people there are doing the same thing.  On a typical afternoon at Wrigley Field and the surrounding neighborhood, there are maybe 100,000 people (see Lee Elia's tirade in the learning center) with nothing to do but sit around, relax, drink beer, soak up a little of that sweet sunshine, and talk shit about nothing in particular.  God bless them all.  They realize that our time on earth is precious and that it's mostly spent worrying about the future or completing our miserable, unforgiving workload to bring home our humble salaries.  Any sunny weekday afternoon spent watching baseball or playing bad guitar on your porch or shooting pool in an open-air bar is a major triumph. 

Of course, it could be argued that the Cubs are completely phony, with their ticket broker scam and their cutesy image.  They're probably among the most heartless, chintzy organizations in all of sports.  And there is certainly a significant douchebag quotient in that stadium and the nearby bars (although nothing like Yankee Stadium, if you ask me).  But as corny and full of shit as it may sound, there is something about that ballpark, and that city, and the little old three and four story buildings, and the hot dog shops, and the three-way intersections, and even the anti-New York second city bias/insecurity, that breaks my heart and makes me want the days there to last forever.  

But fuck Winter there.  Fuck it fifty times, there's no way I could drive around in that shit.

6/17/03:

I was thinking about what Dinny said about the giant squids, and how they will likely end up eating us all someday the way we eat popcorn shrimp.  While I put the odds of that happening at merely 50-50, I do share a certain fear and awe of the deep deep ocean.  Every time a boat capsizes or a shark eats a surfer's leg, or a bunch of kids get drunk and crash a boat and drown, I am reminded how little business we have out in that water.  That ocean is filled with danger - think of going on safari the fiercest jungle in the world, and then imagine that if you crashed your car, not only would you be without transportation, surrounded by giant carnivorous animals you can't even see, but you would also be gasping for air.  That's the ocean.  Man's swimming ability compared to Great White Sharks and Giant Squids and Portuguese Men o' War is similar to his flying ability compared to a Falcon.  If we go in the drink, it's curtains.  Still, stories like the fishermen who died in "The Perfect Storm" do move me emotionally -- they were guys with a job to do, and they got caught in a terrible situation.  All things considered, if you don't need to go into that water, you shouldn't. 

Same thing goes for outer space.  Stay away from that shit or you will perish.

Pics of the day: this is my passport photo from my 1983 passport that I recently turned in.  I haven't left the country in 20 years.  That is a Steve Kemp t-shirt, fyi.

This next picture was taken with my dorky new cellphone.  It reflects the growing up I have done in 20 years.

This is a recent picture of Dipak.

6/16/03:

Fashion Prediction: Retro Cellphones.

6/14/03:

Does anybody own those super-tough Duralex drinking glasses? Well, apparently you can drop 'em on the floor and they won't shatter, and in general the ones I own seem to have held up pretty well.  Until the other day.  My wife was doing dishes (why do I feel guilty typing that?), and one of these nice solid glasses was sitting harmlessly in the dishrack.  All of a sudden, without any contact whatsoever, it EXPLODED.  I mean exploded -- the glass just smashed itself into a thousand pieces, which shot all over the sink area.  I looked it up online, and among other random results, I found some physics/chemistry discussion board, where people were debating the qualities of what makes a glass a solid or something like that, and one guy added this:

Another website offered the following:

Fully Tempered glassware is created by slowly heating, then quickly cooling specially formulated glass one or more times. This process is very similar to tempering of steel in the manufacturing of quality knives or tools. Tempering produce multiple layers within the glass that strengthens the glass, increasing the impact resistance more than five times. Tempering also eliminates stress points to withstand temperature extremes.

SAFETY
Because of its strength and the way it breaks, fully tempered glass forms small popcorn size pellets, not large knife like shards. Because you are much less likely to get a serious injury from these small pieces tempered glass is often called "safety glass." Examples of tempered glass in everyday use are glass shower doors, and automobile windows. Modern building codes require the use of tempered glass in windows that start closer then eighteen inches to the floor and doors.

Fully tempered glass may not break when it is damaged. The stress is stored and it may break weeks or months later without obvious cause. The release of the stress may cause the glass to scatter over a large area. Do not continue to use tempered glass that is damaged, it should be recycled and replaced with undamaged glass.

So in other words, this "Safety Glass" is made up of several layers of glass, which make it resistant to breakage -- or, more accurately, make it appear resistant to breakage.  In reality, it is just as broken as anything else, you just won't find out about it until weeks later, when it may suddenly explode.  Kind of a questionable advantage.  So I guess with the "Safety" glass, if you drop it, you should evaluate the severity of the drop and guess whether it was sufficient to damage one of the layers.  If you think it was, you should throw out the seemingly intact glass.  If not, ya pays yer money, ya takes yer chances.

6/12/03:

This time of year, when the weather starts getting nice, I like to stop by a field next to my office and watch the crappy office softball teams do battle.  It gives me a few minutes to unwind, and I really enjoy the timeless quality of the games.  For a minute, I sometimes feel like I'm back in 1950's New York, with all the chatter and the cartoonish New York accents.  The miserable level of play is also entertaining, although I enjoy it more when the teams really know what they're doing.

Tonight it was two all-guys teams, playing what must have been the 9pm game.  The lights were up full, it was about 70 degrees, and it looked like a shitload of fun.  With no outs and a man on first, a smallish guy came to bat in what was probably like the 3rd inning.  The score was pretty close, both teams were screwing up pretty consistently and lots of runs were scoring.  But it seemed like the little guy's team was down by a couple or so runs.  He took three straight balls, including one pitch that was pretty decent.  On a 3-0 count, the pitcher laid one in right in over the meatiest part of the plate, and the guy didn't even get into his hitting position.  He was taking all the way in slo-pitch softball.  I couldn't believe it -- I felt like the guy just didn't get it -- softball,  economics, hygiene, women, fun, life, ANYTHING.  At least one guy on the opposing team felt the same way, and yelled something like, "Good pitch, Ronnie! He don't wanna hit!"  The following pitch was ball 4, and the little guy (who was pretty powerful-looking and appeared to have a decent swing) kinda strutted towards first base, moving the runner to second.  And I thought, maybe I'm the one that doesn't get it.  I always thought that "a walk's as good as a hit" was meant only for the highest levels of competition.  Slo-pitch softball is only a worthwhile endeavor if you swing balls-out when you see a good pitch.  But maybe they needed runs, and this guy was approaching the game with the proper level of seriousness.  I just can't imagine trying to work a walk in one of those games. 

I also happily retrieved one of the balls that they fouled over the fence.  And I scream out "Hotbox!" whenever one develops.

6/10/03:

I think Bobby Murcer is a perfectly nice fellow, but it is astounding to me how someone could play a game professionally for 20 years, broadcast it for another 20, and still be unable to convey any insight on said game or any improved command of the English language.  He's the Magic Johnson of baseball.

I was watching the Yankees-Stroh's game (and yes, they should spell their name "Stroh's") and there was a one-out grounder to second base with a man on first, a sure-fire inning-ending double play.  The ball took a slightly bad hop and rolled up against Jeff Kent's thigh.  He was trying to get a grip on it so he could complete this essential double play, and it just got wedged on his hip for about a second and a half.  He started desperately trying to grab it, but he couldn't even find it -- it was like a big piece of basil stuck between his teeth or something.  It was sort of comical, but it ended up costing them three runs, and it pointed out what a ridiculous job professional second baseman is.  That ball on his hip was equivalent to a fax someone forgets to send, or a  stock tip acted on too late.  Just the visual image of it seemed so ridiculous, I actually felt sorry for dingbat Kent. 

Keith Van Horn's twin is on the new Real World in Paris.  And he's gay.

6/09/03:

I don't want to belittle anyone's religion (except perhaps the moonies, and the scientologists, and maybe the Mormons, and probably quite a few more I haven't heard of or are slipping my mind right now).  I especially don't want to offend the Gods of whichever religion turns out to be right.  I just need to know how people choose which religion is right for them.  It seems to me that we shouldn't just subscribe to a religion because our dad and his dad and many others before him believed in it.  A person should do some research into all the religions, to see which one is most likely to not be bullshit.  I mean, don't most religions assume that all other religions are mostly, if not completely, bullshit?  I would think that the wisest religion to gamble on would be the one that forces you to believe in the smallest amount of unbelievable shit.  Unfortunately, all the big religions seem to include amazing miracles like the Red Sea being parted and the Ten Commandments being written by God's finger and Noah's Ark and Heaven and stuff like that.  Why did all this stuff "happen" so long ago?  Why isn't there a religion that requires less "faith"?  Why should I be faithful to something that reeks of being a big lie? 

So let's get started on a new religion, albeit one that doesn't include any promises of an afterlife or any recorded miracles or any strict rules of behavior.  Let's base it on things that EVERYONE can get behind, so we don't end up pissing off all the other, more magic-based religions.  Here are some of the things I think we're safe promoting as our central tenets:

-clean, warm laundry for everyone
-potatoes as the central food and form of nourishment
-leaving other people alone as the guiding principle of behavior

I'm open to more suggestions, Branch Verbunglians.

There is some new stuff on the learning center page.

6/5/03:

You know what one of my favorite moments is?  When people start sharing little personal details about themselves in a social setting, and each successive quirk that a person reveals is shared by everybody in the conversation, and everybody's connecting on some stupid little level, and then somebody just says something that brings the whole thing to a thudding halt.  Here's an example that crossed my mind the other day:

I was hanging out with a couple of co-workers back in like 1992, and we were having a few drinks, and we were just getting to know each other, and we started admitting intimate little tidbits about ourselves:

-You know, sometimes if I'm really tired, I won't even brush my teeth before bed.  Just once in a while.
-Oh My God, me too. 
-I'll also eat food that fell on the ground if nobody's around.
-Me too!
-You know, I once stole a street sign.
etc.

And then one guy goes, "You know when you wake up in the morning and you take a shit, and it just comes out whole, and it's perfect? Sometimes I won't even wipe my ass.  I'll just hop in the shower and clean it out by hand."

He then looked up at us with that hopeful look of solidarity, like, "Right?" And the rest of us were like, "um..."  In fact, I think that's the moment where the derisive "um" was created.  Another conversation-stopper a guy I knew once used was, "One time, I put peanut butter on my dick and let my dog lick it off."  Now we've all heard the urban legend, but this guy was talking about himself.  In closing, we can all be as weird as we want in private, but we should learn what's worth sharing and what's best kept between ourselves and our speech-impaired pets.

Today's photo:

click on me

I considered putting this on the "Touching" page, but I am actually impressed that a popstar could salvage a decent life from the ruins of their fleeting career. And while this item does make me laugh and also kind of makes me sad, I still respect Ronnie for keeping at it like a regular person.

6/04/03:

The only encouraging thing about this next generation of kids coming up is that we're going to be able to remain in the workforce longer because they are going to be too stupid to take our jobs. 

You know what animal impresses the hell out of me?  The horsefly.  I remember one time (actually, several times) when I was swimming, and a horsefly started biting the crap out of me.  I would submerge myself to get some relief, and every time I surfaced, that same damn fly would be waiting to attack me again.  I would swat at the thing, but it was too quick and too agile for me, so it just terrorized me for like 15 minutes.  It was hungry and mean and it didn't give a shit that I was like 250 species above it on the food chain, it was coming after me.  That's balls.  We humans need a little more of that plucky attitude.